


Coeur à Coeur

by Valhalla (Red_Temper)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Poor Grantaire, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 17:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5793145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Temper/pseuds/Valhalla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras didn't like the way his blood fizzed as the other man's jaw tightened and flexed. His dark curls hung low over his face; the candle light flickering between them, the kiss left on his face lurid in its glow.</p><p>"Bad news, Apollo."</p><p>Enjolras' lungs seemed to stutter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coeur à Coeur

Enjolras did not mean, though he was certainly glad, – and if that gladness burst like a bubble upon the sight of him, it was only because the nights endeavours had clearly fulfilled Enjolras' worrying predictions – to stumble upon Grantaire; bloody lipped and a bruise blossoming on one cheek, on the way back to his own residence.

Without preamble, he took the defeated man's arm and led him inside. The blood had stopped dribbling onto the neck of Grantaire's shirt and was beginning to crust on his skin. Turning the man's face towards the light of a candle, Enjolras inspected the purple mark on his cheek; thrusting his own E embroided handkerchief towards Grantaire's swollen mouth.

He could admit to not having much luck with words in the dark haired man's presence; the fact was Grantaire's blistering intelligence and acrid cynicism got the best of his mouth while his heart burned brightly in protest. Even now, when his actions might best speak for him, he had something to say.

"I heard what you said tonight. To Bahorel."

_I need a drink, a fight or a fuck. Maybe even all three and more of the last two._

It wasn't unlike Grantaire to be crude, but the desperation, the lost look in his blue eyes as he said it; a whisper not meant for anyone else to hear. It hadn't sat right with Enjolras at all, and now the result of it was writ on his friend's face.

"And are you disgusted, Apollo?'

"I am not."

Enjolras saw the look of surprise, the fade back into the unsettling moroseness he had worn upon his entrance to the café.

"I would know why, though."

Grantaire's lips tried to smile but the effect was ruined by the cut splitting open once more and beginning to weep.

"You don't think you ask too much."

Enjolras felt himself stiffen, but if there ever was a time to prove Grantaire's words of him wrong, it was now.

"I only would hear, if you were content to tell, and have it no other way," he replied, firmly. His fingers ghosted over the heat of the man's marred skin and down to chuck him lightly on the chin. It seemed to make Grantaire smile, if the crinkling of his eyes was anything to go by. It made Enjolras' own mouth twitch in return.

"Did it help?" He asked.

Too soon the smile faded again, and all the strength seemed to seep from Grantaire's muscles with it. Enjolras had never been overly conscious of the difference between them in size; Grantaire always managed to take up a lot of room for one so small and remarkably waifish - now Enjolras was looking.

"It took me away from myself."

"Habits like that lead to opium addictions."

Grantaire laughed sharply and corrected confusingly, "Laudanum."

He checked Enjolras quizzical look and removed any worry of concussion by saying, "If you rub Laudanum on your teeth it absorbs quicker into the bloodstream. Faster than inhaling opium; more easily accessible too."

He paused and glanced to meet Enjolras' eyes for the first time that night, "Don't worry about me, Apollo. Joly told me about it."

And then he looked away again.

"R, tell me what bothers you?"

Enjolras didn't like the way his blood fizzed as the other man's jaw tightened and flexed. His dark curls hung low over his face; the candle light flickering between them, the kiss left on his face lurid in its glow.

"Bad news, Apollo."

Enjolras' lungs seemed to stutter. 

What could possibly have gone wrong? So wrong that Grantaire had willing sought solace in self-destruction. Fighting in the city was dangerous, especially in the back room cages where Enjolras knew Grantaire and Bahorel brawled for extra funds.

"Tell me."

He was aiming for gentleness but ended up somewhere closer to demanding – and, by God, he needed to know. 

It could hardly concern their cause, Grantaire may appear bodily for them but his spirit was always looking towards something else – and lately, Enjolras had found himself looking back.

Grantaire exhaled shakily and pulled his boot less feet up to cross underneath him on the chair. Enjolras was too wired to sit, any minute now he would start pacing. Pacing, at least, seemed a better option than giving into the groundless desire to hold the dark haired man across from him, though neither would have put Grantaire more at ease.

Enjolras wondered when it might be okay to push, as the silence stretched on. He opened his mouth, not sure of what to say (but when had that ever stopped him), when the dark curls bobbed and murky eyes rose to his.

"I have been called home."

Enjolras had always assumed Grantaire was native to Paris, the way he knew the whole city like he was made of it.

"I –"

Grantaire made a small gesture to shush him and for the first time, Enjolras listened.

"My sister…my sister has passed. And I am –"

He broke off, to sweep a hand over his face and to catch it in his curls. A trace of wetness glimmered on his cheeks; things in Enjolras' chest were clenching and unclenching, his hands too. He swiftly sat down, rocking towards Grantaire because he couldn't hold himself aloof. He placed a purposeful hand on Grantaire's shoulder.

The man's head whipped down to it but he did not shrug it off.

"I am to take care of her son."

Enjolras was taken aback, "Her son? But Combeferre said she was 17! And unmarried."

The look Grantaire gave him was baleful, too tired for anger. Grantaire's questionable outing was suddenly making a lot of sense.

Enjolras felt the apology trip of his tongue before he'd even thought it, "I did not mean to offend; judgment is not my place. It is just I thought she was very young."

“Judgment is not your place and yet you occupy it often," Grantaire replied with a bit more bite.

Enjolras fought down a flare of anger, his hand tightening on the other man's shoulder. "It is not me you are angry at."

"No," Grantaire agreed, his eyes lovely when they looked at him, "but it is what we are best at."

"Not tonight," Enjolras said, and pressed a gentle kiss to Grantaire's cheekbone.

The dark haired man froze, his breathe quieter than the sound of Enjolras' mouth pulling away from the salty taste of his skin.

"You shouldn't –"

"Hush. Save that speech, I don't care. I do not know how to be here for you, but I'm trying, please let me."

Grantaire's voice was weak when he said, "You're doing fine, Apollo."

Enjolras beamed and then remembered the circumstances and struggled to control his face. Grantaire had ducked his head again, a glassy look in his eyes. Enjolras' hand slipped from his shoulder to tap at his knee, bringing the other back into this moment, and then forgot to move it away again.

"Tell me about your sister's son," he asked, softly.

Grantaire inhaled sharply and went silent. He squeezed his eyes shut and just seemed to concentrate on breathing. Enjolras was at a loss; nothing could make it go away. He tightened his grip on Grantaire's knee and sank into the feeling of helplessness.

Grantaire's knuckle-bruised, charcoal stained fingers tangled with his. "His name is Francois – Don't smile like that, he is not named Patria."

Enjolras squeezed Grantaire's fingers, "You have to go."

It wasn't a question. Grantaire nodded, doubting, scared, and grieving, but determined.

"You will return."

Also markedly not a question, but Grantaire shrugged and looked down at their hands.

Enjolras squeezed his fingers again, "You will return."

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr at [purely-puck](http://purely-puck.tumblr.com/) and [the-most-marvellous-youth](http://the-most-marvellous-youth.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I dunno, I think the rest is pretty self-explanatory.


End file.
